


there's a house built out of stone

by darlininmyway



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Minor Major League Baseball Inclusion, No Season 4 Ever, Pitch Adjacent, Post MKAT-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlininmyway/pseuds/darlininmyway
Summary: If you’d have told fifteen-year-old Logan Echolls that one day thirty-five-year-old Logan Echolls would enjoy the sweat of manual labor, he probably would’ve laughed in your face.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70
Collections: VMFF Galentine's Day Gift Exchange





	there's a house built out of stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CubbieGirl1723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CubbieGirl1723/gifts).



> Happy Galentine's and V-Day [CubbieGirl1723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CubbieGirl1723/pseuds/CubbieGirl1723)! I hope you enjoy this, it was a blast to write and I hope you don't mind the bit of Pitch I threw in as well. xo

If you’d have told fifteen-year-old Logan Echolls that one day thirty-five-year-old Logan Echolls would enjoy the sweat of manual labor, he probably would’ve laughed in your face (as well as thrown in some derogatory words designed to make you cry.)

But it was true. Logan Echolls, former high school bully, filled with rich kid ennui and an ability to buy anything, chose not to enlist the help of professionals as he renovated the home that would belong to him and his soon-to-be-wife, Veronica.

He now knew, with absolute certainty, that decision had been a mistake. 

Being in the Navy was one thing, but the early years of Logan Echolls had not lent themselves to learning the basics of woodworking, using power tools, or any kind of manual exertion. His years of discipline from the Navy, however, most certainly had to translate into having the fortitude to learn these things now, after all, he’d proven himself an excellent student when properly motivated. 

He was capable of landing a plane on an aircraft carrier in tumultuous seas at night; he would not be taken down by one simple home renovation. 

He sighed as he dropped the sandpaper he’d been using around the trim of the huge front windows that provided an unencumbered view of the dream-blue Pacific. He turned in a circle to see the too expensive saw table, circle saw, and miter saw he’d purchased (and nearly lost a finger using) strewn haphazardly around the room. The tarp that covered the newly stained wood floors crinkled in the middle of the room and the plastic sheeting that covered the entrance to what would become their master bedroom flapped in the warm breeze coming from the open back doors.

For every inch of the house he’d completed, it seemed as though ten new problems rose, fast and furious, and in need of immediate attention. The house that the realtor had sworn had “good bones” and “just needs a little rehabbing” was starting to feel like a money pit. 

He looked down at the paint can, its top popped open, the incorrect color for the trim on display. He managed not to kick the can to release the pent up aggression he felt at this extra, albeit minor inconvenience. 

He knew what he needed to do, but it could only be a last resort. He wanted to do as much of this as he could himself–for them–for their fresh start in a new place that didn’t (and wouldn’t) hold any of the horrors of their shared past.

“No slacking over there, lieutenant,” Veronica said as she dipped her paint roller into the dove gray paint at her feet. She used the back of her free hand to push her wayward bangs away from her sweaty forehead.

Logan trailed his eyes down her form. She was outfitted in one of the t-shirts she’d appropriated from him that reached her knees and a pair of ratty old shorts. It was maybe his favorite look on her – gray paint splotches on her legs and all. 

He bent down to pick up the sanding paper and said, “what if I just ripped out this trim and replaced it completely?”

“We both like that trim.”

“Do we?”

Veronica laughed but stopped when she turned and took in his face. “Since when don’t you like it?”

“Since they gave me the wrong color and I’m nowhere close to being finished sanding.”

“You know this would go faster if –”

“Not happening.”

“We could use his help, he's done this—”

“Veronica—”

“Why don’t you want–”

“He already thinks I’m incapable of doing this, Veronica, and I’m less than keen to see his very smug ‘I told you so’ face. I get to see it on his progeny’s face on a regular basis as is.”

“This face?” she asked, pointing to herself. “Honey bear, you know this is my over the moon face.”

“Is that right, sweetums?” he dropped the sandpaper again and prowled towards her. She held the paint roller in front of her in a defensive position. 

“No, sir. Do you want to relive the floor debacle with the walls?”

Logan didn’t pause his trek forward. “What’s the harm in a little extra scrubbing?”

“I had floor stain in my hair for a week. Mac laughed every time she looked at me.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t laughing at your face?”

Veronica flicked her wrist and a spatter of gray paint splashed across Logan’s blue NAVY t-shirt. 

“Seriously, Veronica?” Logan shook his head. “This is my favorite NAVY shirt.”

“You have four exactly like it,” Veronica quipped.

“Well, now you’re just going to have to deal with me working shirtless.” He reached down and in one fluid movement, removed his shirt. “Happy now?”

Veronica smirked. “Yes, please threaten me with a good time.”

Logan closed the space between them and wrapped his strong arms around Veronica, the paint roller caught between them, smearing her stolen shirt and dripping down the planes of his washboard abs. 

“You’re a menace,” she sighed as his lips grazed her jaw. She let the roller drop to the floor when his lips reached the hollow of her neck. 

“I’m just trying to distract you and make you forget how much work we’ve got to do. Is it working?”

“Maybe too well.”

* * *

It was a perfect day in San Diego.

And Logan was miserable.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit dramatic, but he could think of fifty, maybe even 100 other things he’d rather be doing than sitting at Petco watching batting practice for the Padres before the start of their second game in a series versus the Giants. 

It’s not that Logan hated baseball – it definitely had its place and he especially enjoyed when Veronica would wear a Padres jersey with nothing else beneath it. 

But baseball itself was a long, drawn-out game that involved far too much math for something that was a children’s game at heart. 

He didn’t see the athleticism in it the same way he did for surfing–the singularity of you and the wave–of nature versus man. Not that he didn’t or couldn’t understand team sports, but this one was just...so long. 

On top of that, sitting with Keith while he waxed poetic about the Padres’ standing, their leading pitchers, and the final season of Mike Lawson made Logan want to jump over the railing and onto the field to be escorted out by park security. 

“Evers’s WHIP is starting to catch up to Kershaw’s,” Keith remarked gleefully. 

Logan nodded having no idea what a WHIP was.

“I think today’ll be an easy win for them. We’ve only lost five games since the start of the season. Best start they’ve ever had.” Keith’s grin grew as he fixed the brim of his baseball cap. 

Veronica’s hand landed on Logan’s arm. He turned and took in her smirking face. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed at him.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the field where players were running in from shagging flies in the outfield. He heard the squeals first and then took in the form of the young woman running up to the group of girls (and a growing number of slightly older men). They held out gloves and baseballs for her to sign and asked for selfies. She obliged, deep dimples popping on her golden-brown skin as she smiled. 

“Want an autograph?” Veronica asked.

Logan chuckled. “I think I'm out of the demographic for that.”

She pointed. “Men are waiting for an autograph from the first female pitcher in Major League Baseball.”

“Yeah,” he began. “But I don't want to be on the receiving end of that guy's bat.”

Veronica and Keith looked in the direction of a thickly bearded man with a bat swinging by his side walking towards Ginny Baker and her group of adoring fans. 

“Oh my God,” Keith whispered. “It's Mike Lawson.” The reverence in Keith’s voice shouldn’t have taken Logan by surprise, but it never failed to give him pause. 

The way Mike Lawson sauntered up behind Ginny didn’t impress the young girls waiting for their shot at a selfie, but it did make the men who waited behind them do a double-take before seemingly changing their minds and walking away. 

Keith chuckled as Mike rested his bat atop is shoulder, his eyes trailing after the retreating men. 

“You know,” Veronica nudged Logan in the side. “You could pretty much ask my dad for anything at this point. Nothing I've given him compares to seats behind home plate to see his beloved Padres. Plus getting to see Mike Lawson? This feeling could probably only be surpassed by me going back to being a lawyer.”

“What if I throw that into the ask?” Logan smirked. “Please help us with our home renovations, also, I finally convinced Veronica to completely change her personality.”

“You're aiming to sleep on the couch, huh?”

“That's Pony’s domain.”

“Well, she'd be taking your place in the bed. At least she probably snores less.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” Veronica shrugged. “But there's no accounting for taste.”

“Direct hit, counselor.”

Veronica nudged his side with her elbow. “Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack, and I’ll reconsider my position on bed-sharing.”

“How cheap do you think I am?” he chuckled. “I’m worth at least a hot dog and a beer.”   
  


“Then I’ll take that, too.” 

Logan leaned down to kiss her but diverted the kiss to her cheek when he remembered Keith was beside him. 

“Scaredy cat,” she murmured under against his ear. 

“Self-preservation,” he replied before he turned to Keith and asked if he’d like anything from concessions. 

“A pretzel would be nice, thanks,” Keith replied, his attention still directed toward the field where Mike Lawson stood tapping the bat against the heel of his right cleat as he continued to loom over Ginny Baker.

Logan turned back to Veronica and said, “you so owe me.”

“Put it on my tab, sailor.”

* * *

“This trim’s gotta go,” Keith remarked as he ran a finger around the freshly painted edging. 

Logan tossed a look over his shoulder at Veronica who grimaced in return. 

It’d been so easy after a Padres win and a quick photo with Mike Lawson (arranged by a friend-of-a-friend of Dick’s) to get Keith’s help with the renovation. 

Logan hadn’t minded shelling out the cash to soften up his still prickly future father-in-law. Sure there’d been some grumbling and maybe a few passive-aggressive remarks as Keith walked through the renovation-in-progress, but it wasn’t something Logan was unfamiliar with. 

“Why’s that?” Logan asked though he wasn’t truly interested in the answer. He dropped his shoulders and silently counted backward from ten. 

Keith pressed his index finger into the middle of the frame toward the window pane – it instantly gave way, the crack widening with the barest of pressure. He turned towards Logan with an undefinable look on his face, but one that still felt like judgment to him. 

“You’ve got wood rot. If we don’t fix it, the next good rain we get could start to ruin the walls or worse, these beautifully finished floors.” 

Logan rejected the urge to fidget at Keith’s look. Instead, he subtly shifted his weight – one foot to the other and rolled his shoulders back so he stood at his full height. 

Keith smirked.

“I’ve got a friend who can finish the windows. He’ll probably even do it for you at cost. Let me–”

“How much work would it be to do it ourselves?” Logan asked, his mouth not letting his brain catch up with him. 

He’d already replaced the bathroom vanity and nearly thrown out a shoulder doing it. He’d replaced all the trim around the baseboards throughout the house and managed to only nick himself with the staple gun once. 

Turned out, home renovations could be more dangerous than flying into enemy territory at night.

His question and its answer led to Logan driving himself and Keith to Lowe’s. 

(Veronica had wiggled her fingers at their retreating forms and mouthed ‘be good’ as Logan pulled out of the driveway.)

It wasn’t that Logan didn’t like Keith, but he had an effect on adult Logan that he couldn’t quite understand. He was stable, reliable, a fucking fighter pilot – people trusted him to get the job done; but somehow, when it was just him and Keith, he felt a lot like that awkward seventeen-year-old yelling at Veronica’s front door, backing down from her very angry father. 

They loaded up the long bed cart with pre-fab moldings that would need to cut to fit, but not completely made from scratch. They added wood glue, finishing nails, and brad nails to their haul before heading back to the house.

The first part of the twenty-minute drive was quiet as Logan navigated the Beamer smoothly through late afternoon San Diego traffic. 

Keith cleared his throat before he asked, “so what made you buy a home that needed so much work?”

Logan’s hands tightened on the wheel, but he didn’t instantly respond. He took a deep breath, loosened his grip, and responded. 

“Both Veronica and I,” Logan began with a slight emphasis on Veronica’s name. “Decided that we’d both like to have something near the water. This house was priced right and seemed like a good project to throw ourselves into.”

“Hmm,” Keith said. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest something closer to the 09-side of town.”

“I hadn’t even considered it,” Logan responded honestly. “My life wasn’t any better over there, and other than Dick, no one from that world is still my friend. I may have my parents’ money, but I certainly don’t want to lead a life like they did.”

Keith nodded and turned to look out at the passing scenery. “How come it took so long for you to ask for help?”

“It’s wasn’t that long,” Logan muttered. He rolled his shoulders back and navigated the car towards the exit. “I thought it’d be something good for Veronica and me to do without help.”

“Asking for help isn’t a bad thing, Logan. Doesn’t make you less capable.”

“I know that.”

“So...was it just asking me for help that gave you pause?”

Logan shrugged. “You’ve got to admit, you’re not my biggest fan.”

“You saved my life. I don’t think of that lightly,” Keith said. “And my daughter loves you, I don’t take that lightly either.”

Logan’s mouth ran over his brain once more. “But you can’t wish she had this life instead of the one–”

“Logan,” Keith interrupted. “For what it’s worth, I wish a lot of things for my daughter. I also know when I’m overruled and I know that pushing at her will cause her to cut me out of her big decisions.” Keith shook his head. “Neither of you are kids anymore. I don’t know you now, Logan, and yes, I sometimes think of the teenager who bullied my daughter, but it’s the misfortune of having always been an adult while you were growing into one. I can’t hold these things against you anymore, it wouldn’t be fair. So I hope you’ll allow me to do that.”

Logan drove the rest of the way home in silence but turned over every word Keith had said to him until he parked the car in the driveway.

“I’ll do the best I can.”

* * *

  
Logan let out a slow breath as his body eased deeper into the mattress. Veronica’s soft hair teased the edge of his chin as her fingers teased the neck of his t-shirt. He tightened the arm that was wrapped around her waist. 

Together with Keith, re-trimming all the windows took five grueling hours instead of the Logan had anticipated. 

After they’d finished, Veronica ordered pizza, and they sat on their furniture-less floor, clinking beers between the three of them. 

As Keith dug into his second piece of pizza, he asked when they’d be ripping out the kitchen cabinets.

“Thank you,” Veronica breathed out against his shoulder, returning him to the present. 

“For what?”

Veronica scooted down slightly to place her ear over his heart. “For this house. For working with my dad. For the future. Take your pick, flyboy.”

Logan shook his head. “Anything I have Veronica...it’s yours for the taking. And, I don’t know your dad well, but I’d like to. He’s the only parent in this town worth a damn. I just hope you don’t inherit his hair genes.”

Veronica pinched his side and Logan retaliated by capturing her wrist. 

“Are you saying you won’t love me if I go bald?”

Logan tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and shook his head. “I’ll love you until I can’t remember my name.”

She turned her head and kissed his wrist, hiding the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

_ fin _


End file.
